The Tree, the Vine, and the Ant, Pt. two

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You and I, my vine, will wind together
when the winds of passion send shivers through my leaves,
causing your tendrils to dance about my limbs,
just as the breeze would scatter a child's ringlets on her shoulders,
so do you ramify around me.

By inspiration do we live,
our pores open and exhausting all the waste.
We take the ugly, the used, the commonplace
and produce beauty together.
Yet is it cheapened and all but forgotten
by those who greedily hoard our gifts of life.
And still we grow, twisting tendrils towards no definite plane
until we challenge the power of the very forces that forged us.
Our jealous limbs are locked in our ever-exulant thrust
towards the limitless expanse we know we will clutch in our hand-like boughs 

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